


No Other Way

by windfallswest



Category: Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them (Movies)
Genre: Age Difference, Alley Sex, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - No Gellert Grindelwald, First Time, Genital Piercing, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Abuse, M/M, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Power Imbalance, Rough Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-15
Updated: 2018-10-15
Packaged: 2019-08-02 18:13:41
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,740
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16310216
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/windfallswest/pseuds/windfallswest
Summary: Percival Graves should still have been at work, snug underground in MACUSA's only slightly dank inner reaches, instead of lurking in an alley in the Lower East Side, watching a miserable No-Maj manchild handing out soggy hand-copied pamphlets, or trying to.





	No Other Way

**Author's Note:**

> I've been referring to this as the Sex Trash Fic, which, um. Yeah. I would not quiiiiite call anything that happens dub-con, but let's just say this is not a recommended relationship model. 
> 
> Because of the nature of canon, there are also references to and injuries from Mary-Lou's abuse of Credence. Please read responsibly.

**November 18, 1926**  
It was a misty, raw sort of afternoon in mid November, fading with the veiled sun to a drizzling and inhospitable evening. On the streets, people screwed down their hats against the chilly damp and hunched into the upturned collars of their coats. 

Percival Graves should still have been at work, snug underground in MACUSA's only slightly dank inner reaches, instead of lurking in an alley in the Lower East Side, watching a miserable No-Maj manchild handing out soggy hand-copied pamphlets, or trying to.

This was ridiculous. It was exactly what he'd reprimanded Tina Goldstein for when he'd taken her off the Second Salem investigation. She was lucky she'd been reassigned to Queens and not the Floo Registry after what she'd pulled.

Across the street, Credence glanced up from under his flat-brimmed hat, dull eyes searching, already with a glimmer of unaccustomed hope. It transformed to something disconcertingly like longing when he caught sight of Graves. A quirk of his fingers was all it took to bring Credence scurrying through traffic. 

Of course, Graves wasn't hexing No-Majs in front of crowds. But the root of Goldstein's problem was that she'd gotten too emotionally involved. And this, Graves know, was walking the edge of what was appropriate for the sake of the investigation. 

Graves faded back into the alley as Credence approached. The boy's spurt of eager energy faltered at the last, as always uncertain of his reception. 

"Come here," Graves said gently. 

Credence edged closer, holding his pamphlets awkwardly, embarrassed by them in present company. He flinched when Graves reached out to pluck one from the limp pile. 

Graves flicked a glance over it and snorted, then lifted the rest of them out of his grip. Credence's bare hands clenched reflexively, then dropped to his sides. The boy didn't even have a coat over his threadbare morning suit.

There was a rusting drum half filled with refuse at hand. Graves flicked the ruined pamphlets into it. A wordless spell ignited them, and soon a crackling fire had caught the rest of the debris.

Helplessly, Credence leaned towards the warmth, but his gaze of self-conscious wonder was all for Graves. It made something twist inside him. 

When Credence raised his hands to warm them, Graves captured them instead. It had been warm earlier in the week, but now it was almost cold enough to turn all this damp to ice. Credence's unprotected hands were dry and cracked from the cold. It made Graves ashamed to be wearing gloves; he'd have gladly given them to the boy, but it would only make more trouble for him. 

All he could do was heal them and give Credence a few minutes' stolen warmth. He was reluctant to let go of Graves' hands once it was done, and Graves didn't have the heart to push him away.

He wondered if it had been that same reluctance that kept the memory charm from taking right, or if there was another explanation. Graves knew he should have tried again, that this went far beyond the normal latitude aurors had in running an investigation to the Statute of Secrecy itself. 

Graves was standing by a garbage fire in a dingy alley and holding Credence Barebone's hands, and he didn't care. 

 

 **November 20, 1926**  
"This is the second incident near your mother's group. There might be a connexion," Graves said, talking half to Credence and half to himself. The issue of the Second Salemers had started out as simple surveillance, trying to figure out whether Mary-Lou's anti-magic fervour had its roots in an actual breach of the Statute of Secrecy. Now it looked like there might be something more.

"Ma's the last person who'd use anything magic," Credence objected. The cold snap had held through the weekend, and he was hunched in on himself. "You've heard her preach; she'd never stand for it."

Graves watched the miserable boy, debating with himself. Good sense won out over the urge to reach out and draw him in, at least partly because it would probably alarm him. It was a close thing, though.

"Even if it would persuade people to her cause?" Graves asked, stuffing his hands in his pockets to keep them out of trouble. "There are a lot of people around her; one of them might not have her scruples. Or maybe one of the children she feeds somehow found a magical creature. Either way, you're in the best position to find out."

"I haven't seen anything like that," Credence said dubiously.

"Will you keep looking? For me?"

Credence darted a quick look upward at his eyes and then away. "Of course. Anything. I—I mean, I'll let you know if I find anything."

The boy fled, scuttling back out the alley and disappearing into the flow of traffic, but the word echoed in Graves' mind. _Anything._ Anything.

 

 **November 23, 1926**  
The next time Graves saw Credence, the weather had broken; but he was hunched around himself for a different reason than the temperature. Even with his shoulders turned away, Graves could see he was cradling one of his hands against his chest.

Without stopping to think, Graves closed the distance between them and took his injured hand. Credence flinched away, and only then did Graves pause.

"I can help, like I did before. If you want me to."

Credence's lips formed an 'o' of comprehension. His face was suffused with embarrassment.

"Credence," Graves murmured softly.

A shudder ran through him. Wordlessly, Credence uncurled his arm.

Graves had seen a lot of injuries in his career. This hadn't been a caning; it had been done by a strap, probably a belt given the uneven gouges in the skin. Credence was the only one who wore a belt in that family. That told Graves really what there was to know about the situation.

He held the injured hand carefully between both of his and smoothed the hurt away. Credence gave a helpless sigh of relief. When he leaned reflexively closer, Graves took the final step separating them and enfolded him in his arms.

Credence stiffened in surprise, but Graves only held him more securely. He was bigger than he looked, as tall as Graves and almost as broad across the shoulders. This didn't feel like embracing a child; it felt like holding a man.

Which made the sobs that Credence vented into his overcoat both more intimate and more awkward. There were only a handful, less like weeping than voiceless, convulsive coughs. He stilled himself quickly but kept his face hidden in Graves' shoulder. Their hands were clasped between their bodies. Graves didn't know who had tightened his grip first, but both of them were hanging on for dear life. 

"'M sorry. I didn't find anything," Credence mumbled, hunching in shame but not loosening his grip or trying to pull away.

Graves gave his shoulders a reassuring squeeze. "Shh. Don't worry about that right now. Investigations take time, magic or no magic."

Eventually, Credence made to step back. With some reluctance, Graves let him.

"I'll find out who it is," Credence promised, avoiding his eyes.

Graves turned his face up and, on an impulse, kissed him softly on the lips. "Thank you," he said, then disapparated.

 

 **November 29, 1926**  
The first time, Graves hadn't meant anything by the kiss. It had been intimate but unexceptionable, a parental peck on the lips. 

The second time, Graves hadn't meant to. He couldn't help noticing the way Credence, whose gaze generally fixed itself somewhere around the level of his watch chain, kept darting his eyes upwards to stare at his mouth. 

Graves was used to being intimidating, but usually he had to work harder than this to reach terrifying. Some part of him had decided that coaxing Credence was a challenge, and he blamed that for how close they ended up standing. Credence _was_ at least as tall as he was, and it was no effort at all to lean in and press their lips together.

The third time, Credence edged closer of his own volition, like Graves was the one who was likely to bolt. Graves waited, curious, but after this promising start Credence didn't quite dare to make the final move himself. He swayed towards Graves, begging with every line of his body. 

Being _wanted_ like that lit him up like fire. The idea that this fraying No-Maj boy's desire could have that kind of effect on Graves was absurd; but there was something about him, more than pity, more than compassion, even more than the power it gave him. 

Graves closed his arms around the boy and licked confidently past his chapped lips. Credence whimpered in pleasure or relief, his surrender immediate and abject. What would he let Graves do? he wondered. _Anything_ , he had said. Graves felt a sudden desire to take him up on it.

 

 **December 1, 1926**  
"Do you want this?" Graves murmured into his ear. "Tell me what you want, Credence."

Credence froze up, his body suddenly rigid with tension. His breath caught a few times, but he didn't say anything. 

At first, Graves thought he was pulling away. But he wasn't; he was sinking to his knees. Graves stared down at him, transfixed. Of its own volition, his hand slid into Credence's hair.

Graves had to swallow twice before he could make his voice come out. "This? Do you know what this is, Credence?"

Credence tried to look away, but Graves tightened his grip. The flush that had climbed to his cheeks intensified.

"I, I thought you might like it. I'm out here alone all the time. I've seen—things."

"Seen? Or done?" Graves asked, feeling a faint prickle of possessiveness stir.

"S-seen."

Graves stroked his hair. "And did you look away like a good boy, or did you watch?" He pressed his thumb against Credence's lips, parted slightly in automatic denial. "I think you watched. I think you couldn't help yourself."

Credence made a whimpering sound and squeezed his eyes shut. Taking his face in both hands, Graves tilted it upwards.

"Look at me," he told Credence gently. 

Slowly, Credence opened his eyes. He looked up at Graves with a miserable, pleading expression on his face. 

"Tell me that you want this." 

"I—yes." He tried to hide his face again in shame, clutching at the hem of Graves' coat. "Please. Please, Mister Graves."

A surge of heat roared through Graves like a block fire. He wasn't entirely sure he'd even get his dick out of his trousers at this rate. 

Salem, but that wasn't going to stop him trying.

Graves kept control of Credence's head with one hand, fumbling at his flies with the other. He brushed Credence's lips with his thumb, then pushed between them, running the nail over his teeth until they parted. 

Credence made a tiny, soft noise; his tongue touched the pad of Graves' thumb. He made an encouraging murmur, and the next lick was more confident. Graves stroked Credence's tongue, exploring the contours of his mouth, making room for himself. 

Credence made another little sound when he pressed down, eyes flickering open and breath coming faster in anticipation of what came next. Hands still fisted in Graves' coat, he dropped his jaw and let Graves guide himself in.

Sliding into that slick, sweet warmth, Graves may have thrust a little too far at first; but Credence didn't try to pull away. He grunted, gagging, and leaned on Graves for support. _Oh, sweet boy._

"Should I tell you what to do?" Graves asked, still pushing in just a bit further than he ought to. "Or would you like me to just...use you?"

He punctuated the question with an even deeper thrust and felt Credence's throat trying to work against him as his erection, with its ring of curved barbells around the crown, challenged Credence's gag reflex. How tempting it was to just push through... And Credence's response was to lean into his hands, sucking uneven breaths in through his nose, eyes squeezed shut again in anguished pleasure.

"Sweet Credence," Graves breathed, and he put his back into the next thrust, holding Credence with both hands so he could fuck that lovely pink mouth. 

Credence choked around him. A high whine escaped his throat; tears leaked from his eyes. He was learning perforce to breathe with Graves' long strokes, out and then all the way back in. Inconsiderately, Graves disrupted him by coming forcefully down his throat.

Credence sagged when Graves relaxed his grip, coughing and gasping, with spit and come dripping from his mouth to further pollute the alley floor. Graves gave him a moment, then gently tipped his head up. Credence turned an imploring gaze up at him; his eyes were black with want, want and a helpless, unformed desire. His whole body was shaking like it was freezing outside again. 

"It's all right. Shh, it's all right." Graves brushed away a fresh tear sliding down his cheek. "Show me. I want to see you."

It took a moment for Credence to unclench his hands from the heavy fabric of Graves' winter coat, and he started swaying dangerously before Graves caught his shoulders to steady him. His hands continued to shake as he worked open his belt and trousers, despite Graves' continued low-voiced reassurances. 

The sight of Credence's hard cock made Graves deeply conscious that the boy's mouth wasn't all he wanted to fuck. It was bare like a child's, no piercings at all, either through the head or along the shaft; Graves had had his done before he'd finished school. 

But he had little time to consider the sight, because no sooner had Credence drawn himself out of his underclothes than he was coming. Graves' dick, still out and exposed, gave a definite twitch. 

_Salem, man,_ he scolded himself. _You're fifty, not fifteen._

 

 **December 4, 1926**  
Graves did not go back the next night, or the next. He wasn't _avoiding_ Credence, and he certainly didn't feel guilty. Graves had other responsibilities, a department to run and a mounting crisis on his hands that wouldn't benefit from him hovering over his intelligencer's shoulder. Credence was the only one he'd confided his newest and most improbable theory to, because he was the only one who wouldn't laugh in his face. 

It was getting late. Graves had a headache from not getting enough of anything today except for coffee and shouting politicians. He'd had too much of both. 

Godoy came up to stand next to Graves where he was scowling at the incident map of the city. There were flecks of ice melting on her coat. 

"It's sleeting like a son of a bitch out there, by the way. If you're going anywhere, I'd recommend apparating," she said by way of greeting.

Graves glanced up, and Godoy shook her head. He huffed an irritated sigh.

"I wish I knew how this thing's disappearing," he said irritably. "Anything that makes this big of a mess ought to be easier to track."

Godoy grimaced agreement. "Maybe it _is_ some of Grindelwald's radicals after all."

"I have Quattrocchi, Oelberg, Vang, and Fosse on that possibility." Could they be half right? A wizard but not a wizard, bestial but not a beast... _crazy_.

Godoy nodded. This wasn't anything either of them didn't already know. 

"Go home, sir," she told him. "Get some sleep, or at least some dinner. You'll give yourself an ulcer."

Graves did neither of those things. There was no reason to expect Credence to be out in the howling storm, snow mixed with sleet, that had been lashing the city since lunchtime. Even his fanatic mother wouldn't make him stay out in all this. She'd be expecting him home, if he wasn't there already, and he got in trouble for being late.

Turning up his coat's collar and settling his hat more firmly on his head, Graves stuck his head out of the alley across from where Credence usually stationed himself. Huddled into the dubious shelter of a shallow doorway, Credence stared fixedly back towards him, at the alley's mouth.

Although his gaze was outward-focussed, his attention had drifted so far inward in his misery that he didn't even notice Graves until he was halfway across the street. A sudden, naked longing breaking over his face, Credence lurched towards him.

He only managed to stagger a few steps away from the doorway's scant shelter before Graves reached him. Without any thought for what he was doing, Graves took him by the arm and disapparated them both.

Credence went rigid with shock at the disturbing sensation of apparation and the even more disturbing experience of finding himself instantaneously transported from one place to another that he'd never seen before.

"Mister Graves..." Credence was clutching him back now, staring around wide-eyed at the parlour of Graves' penthouse apartment. "This is a dream. I'm seeing things."

"It's magic," Graves said gently. 

He made to draw Credence in, but he was soaked through with freezing water. He was shivering violently, and his lips were blue. His gaze, though more present now, was still dull and uncomprehending. 

Graves clucked at him. "You need a hot shower. Bath? Warm clothes, maybe some warm food?"

A look of heartbreaking disbelief appeared on Credence's face, so overcome he couldn't speak. Like he couldn't imagine that such kindnesses were being offered, never mind provided.

Graves kissed him softly, then took him by the hand again and led him back towards the bathroom. Credence's bewildered grip was vise-like. 

Once Credence was dripping safely in the tiled bathroom instead of all over the rugs, Graves cast a spell that peeled his sodden garments off one at a time. Alarmed at first, Credence calmed at his soothing words and touch. His dawning wonder turned self-conscious again as his clothes peeled away to leave him standing naked. Graves stepped in, tracing his fingers from Credence's clammy shoulder to his clammy stomach. 

"There now. Let's get you warmed up."

Graves made sure he got into the shower with the water going, then sent his waterlogged clothes, such as they were, along to the laundry. He hung up his own outerwear to dry off and traded his suit jacket for a maroon dressing gown with black velvet lapels, leaving a spare for Credence to put on once he was done in the shower. 

He was in his bedroom, standing close in front of the fireplace and sipping firewhiskey, when Credence emerged. Clean, his skin was like milk against the rich purple silk of the dressing gown. His expression was uncertain.

"Come here," Graves coaxed him, holding out a hand.

Hesitantly, Credence took it and let himself be drawn in. Graves soothed his apprehensions with a series of slow, indulgent kisses, slipping his hand inside the dressing gown. He hadn't given Credence anything to wear under it. 

Reminded, Credence tried to curl around himself in embarrassment, but they were standing too close, and Graves wouldn't let him pull away. Instead, he pressed in more closely, pushing open the tightly-belted dressing gown. Graves inhaled the clean smell of his arousal, pleasantly overlain by his own soap. Credence was growing hard from the mixture of self-consciousness and physical contact. He gasped when Graves palmed his curiously unadorned cock; Graves bit his lower lip, letting it slide slowly free of his teeth.

Credence was suddenly, shudderingly hard. He made a punched-out little noise, sending a matching wave of desire through Graves. 

With difficulty, Graves eased off, just a little, enough to guide Credence to the bed and lay him out on it. Once there, with Credence desperate and wanting beneath him, his control deserted him briefly. It was so tempting to just take him like this, fast and maybe a little rough.

But this was no furtive encounter in an alley. Graves made himself pull back again, keeping Credence from following him with a hand in the middle of his chest.

"Wait here," Graves told him, slipping off the bed.

Credence hitched himself up against the headboard to watch Graves taking off his shoes. He took a moment to appreciate the picture the boy made, splayed among the pillows, robe framing more than concealing his body, lips wet with kisses, bare cock standing out thick and red, limbs akimbo.

Graves disrobed with Credence's eyes on him, so hungry he forgot his own exposure. He let the last of his clothing float away to dispose of itself as usual, conscious of the effect. 

Naked, Graves returned to the bed. He settled over Credence, who looked up at him with a spark of apprehension and wonder. 

Graves gave in to the temptation to run his hands all over all that creamy skin. Credence leaned into his touch, thrust upwards when it became too much. Graves thrust back.

"How would you like to have me inside you again?" he asked, dropping one hand to press his fingers against the outside of Credence's dry hole. 

"T-there?" Credence stammered, astonished.

Softly, Graves whispered a spell into his ear. The boy's entrance was wet with slick now. Graves' body between his legs prevented him from clapping his knees together at the new, unexpected sensation.

"There," he murmured, allowing Credence to consider this taste of how it felt. On their own, his fingers had started rubbing circles around the tight muscle; now they slipped just barely inside.

Credence squirmed, a whine rising in his throat. Grave responded with a heartfelt moan. 

There was only so much a man could take. He sank himself into that hot, squeezing tightness as slowly as he could bear, rocking in and out, unable to keep entirely still while Credence caught his breath again. 

"Sweet Credence," he breathed.

"God. Oh my god." Credence's hands fumbled to touch him, clumsy with pleasure. His thighs were still trying to squeeze shut with Graves between them. 

Graves closed his teeth on the skin underneath Credence's jaw. For a moment, he imagined leaving a mark there. Salem, he'd get the poor boy beaten by that ignorant shrew he called a mother. The thought of anyone else marking Credence drew a growl from deep in his chest. 

Credence's grip on him tightened convulsively, inside and out. Mercy Lewis, he hadn't thought the boy could get any tighter. It was Graves' turn to pause, buried deeply in Credence's body, to adjust to the overwhelming sensation. 

Credence's hips gave a jerk, constrained by Graves' weight and the hard grasp of his fingers. Graves thought he must have come to a stop against a particularly sensitive spot and ground in a little further, experimentally, taking full advantage of his piercings.

Another twitch and Credence's long fingers digging into his shoulders. Graves built up a rhythm of in and further in, while Credence bore down on him. His eyes were scrunched tight with the intensity of his effort, and his mouth gaped open on loud, uneven breaths.

Graves paused with his cock in so far it felt like bone against bone instead of flesh against flesh, holding Credence's hips so he couldn't retreat, stretching out the moment in order to nibble at Credence's lower lip. His thighs were shaking with the effort, but stopping was unthinkable. 

Credence's erection slid against his stomach, they were that close. Graves wanted to wrap his hand around it, wrap his lips around it, see that startled look on Credence's face, hear him begging for what was not being withheld.

He was begging now. Graves was almost begging himself, although he wasn't sure for what. Maybe for this, the moment when Credence broke at last and came. Graves' own orgasm was shattering. His breath stopped, his vision went dark, and the blood roaring in his ears drowned out all other sounds. 

It wasn't just Credence clinging in the aftermath. A long time passed before Graves was willing to ease away, even a little. 

 

The lights were out, and the fire was embers. Graves had used Credence's dressing gown to clean them off and then discarded it, so the boy was now naked in the low light. Tangled together, he breathed in deeply, inhaling Credence's scent under the sultry aroma of sweat and sex.

Graves traced his thigh, up towards the fingermarks he had left on Credence's hip. A muffled sound told him he'd awakened Credence.

Exploratory fingers drifted up to his back. Credence flinched, the movement sending the banked fire's ruddy gleam skating over the raised weals of old scars.

Unreasoning anger blazed up in him, and Graves wondered if somewhere Tina Goldstein was dreaming unusually vindicated dreams. It took a great deal of self-restraint not to disapparate on the spot and throttle Mary-Lou Barebone in her sleep, but he managed it. 

"Shh," he said, continuing the movement he'd begun and stroking up the length of Credence's back. His fingers felt clearly the extent of the damage, not lingering but not shying away. 

Still not fully awake, Credence blinked at him, his expression soft and vulnerable. Graves was completely unprepared for the upwelling of tenderness that mixed with his violent outrage. How _dared_ she presume to lay her filthy hands on what was his?

He bent to press a kiss to the corner of Credence's mouth that was available, continuing to rub Credence's back. _His_. What a jape. He could almost laugh, but the sudden intensity of what he was feeling had snatched his breath away. 

_Mine._ Right here and now, anyway, yes, his. Graves pushed Credence over onto his stomach, letting him hide his face in the pillows. 

Credence was underfed, but his shoulders were broad once Graves smoothed the cringing hunch out of them. The line of his bowed neck drew Graves' eye, and he traced it with his fingers, then buried them in his straight, dark hair, cradling his skull. 

"Does she still do this to you?" he asked Credence, low-voiced and gentle.

Credence flinched, but Graves was patient. He stayed where he was, straddling Credence from behind and touching him, following the bumps of his vertebrae up and down his spine.

"No," Credence choked out at last. "Not since I was little."

"Good."

Holding Credence in place, Graves leaned in and pressed his lips to the centre of Credence's scarred back. Under his hand, Credence burrowed his face more firmly into the pillows. 

Graves moved up and placed a second kiss above the first. When he arrived between Credence's shoulder-blades, he parted his lips, sucking until he'd brought a mark up. 

Credence made a noise that sounded something like _oh_ , his voice muffled. Graves found himself aroused again. His cock slid in-between Credence's cheeks, and the thought of slipping back inside was unavoidable.

Pinned as he was, Credence shifted under him. His body knew what it liked and wanted more. Graves repositioned himself, nudging Credence's legs apart and getting between them. He was still slick from earlier, and Graves had little trouble thrusting in. 

It was a slightly rawer pleasure than before. Credence was looser but not quite as wet. Graves had the leverage for real thrusts this time and he put it to good use, enjoying the slow drag in and out of Credence's body. 

Credence pushed into the hands running up and down his back, head thrashing back and forth, but not trying to get away. Graves pulled his hips up and back and fucked him in earnest. He leaned down, bracing himself on the mattress, to suck another mark along Credence's spine. He grabbed Credence's shoulder with one hand and slid the other down his belly to close around his oddly bare erection. 

Graves pumped it in time with his thrusts. Tightening his grip, he choked off Credence's orgasm even as he himself came.

The boy mewled into the pillows, hips jerking fruitlessly. "Please," he begged.

Graves loosened his hand just enough to slide it up his shaft; by the time he slid it back down again, Credence was coming. He spasmed around Graves, still inside him and only just starting to soften. 

Shifting his arm to curl around Credence's midsection, he drew Credence back against his chest as he turned them both onto their sides. Credence hugged Graves' arm to himself like a child. Graves stroked the hair back out of his face, soothing. The light and the angle changed the heavy lines of Credence's face to something angular and striking.

"Please, let me stay. Don't make me go back." The words were whispered, breaking a long silence; but neither of them was close to sleep.

Graves closed his eyes, glad Credence couldn't see his face. Salem, but he was tempted. To take up with a No-Maj, that was unthinkable. Dangerous, illegal, not to mention career suicide.

A squib, though. It wouldn't raise his credit any, and Credence hadn't been raised in the wizarding world. But it was possible. 

Graves imagined what it would be like to bring Credence into the world of magic, then tell him he could never really be a part of it. _Mercy Lewis._

"I wish I didn't have to," Graves said at last. "But I still need your help. No one else can do it, Credence. You have to find the child. The safety of both our worlds depends on you."

 

 **December 5, 1926**  
Graves almost didn't let him go. But it would be dawn soon, and Credence would need to return to the chapel if his mother was to be fooled. 

Wordlessly, Graves handed him back his cleaned clothes before turning to sort through his own wardrobe. He paused to watch Credence dress. Half-turned, the purpling mark from Graves' mouth was visible amid the scars criss-crossing his back, where no one would ever see it but Graves. Worn thin as it was, Credence's shirt was still enough to hide it. 

Graves waited for his tie to knot itself at his throat, then carefully fixed his collar bar, capped with pearls to match the mother of pearl strips inlaid in his ebony cufflinks, subtle accent to the charcoal pinstripe suit he'd chosen. Cream undervest, spats, and patterned tie. Graves inspected himself in the mirror and found himself meeting Credence's eyes.

Open wounds, those eyes. Graves took his hands and drew him in, the desire to comfort him warring with the need to send him away. For all that separated them—should have separated them, but had somehow failed to—Graves was just as at a loss in this as Credence.

One last kiss, almost enough to derail them after all. Credence was uncertain and desperate. Graves hugged him close while he apparated them. It...hurt to let him go, out in the dark, cold alley. Credence sank to the slushy ground of the alley beside the Second Salem chapel, curling in on himself. It was early enough that he would be as chilled and damp as though he'd spent the entire night out here when his mother found him. With—well, it was hard to call it luck—she'd believe he hadn't been able to find the door in the storm and not punish him. 

Graves would check in on him later today—no, tomorrow. No, today. Filled with more misgivings than he could count, Graves forced himself to turn away, disapparating with a crack. _Tomorrow_ , he told himself firmly. _Give the boy time to work._ Maybe he'd have found out something by tomorrow.

 **December 8, 1926**  
Credence sat huddled in Graves' fine coat, hugging it tightly around himself and hunching into the deep collar. A low buzz of voices echoed in this dark, underground room. Credence tried to let it drown out the memory of Modesty screaming in terror when she'd seen him. _You! You killed them! Demon!_

A shudder ran through him, and his head bowed nearly to his knees as the _thing_ in his belly churned, snarling and ready to lash out again. Snarling with _his_ anger. Oh, god. 

A light touch on Credence's shoulder made him jump. But when his head came up, he melted in relief to see it was Graves. The well-dressed negro woman he'd seen before stood off to one side, observing him warily. Credence looked back at Graves.

Concern touched his face, along with something harder to understand. He had knelt down next to Credence, putting their faces on a level, if Credence sat up properly. 

It couldn't be... _awe_? Not directed at Credence. But the hand he reached out to touch Credence's face was hesitant. Tender. He couldn't—couldn't _still_. Not now he knew Credence was the monster he'd been hunting. Why was Graves _looking_ at him like that?

"Ready to go?" Graves asked, voice as gentle as his touch.

"Where?" Credence managed faintly.

Graves's lips twitched in a smile that was quickly overtaken again by his concern. "Home. With me. If you want." Uncertainty darkened his eyes. 

"Not—to stay," Credence said, trying to conceal the depths of his longing.

"For as long as you want."

Credence stared at him helplessly.

"Please?" Graves added softly.

Credence opened his mouth, closed it, opened it again. "Please," finally spilled out from his numb lips.

For a second, it seemed like Graves was going to kiss him right here in public, but after an intense moment he turned his head to address their watcher. "I'll be back tomorrow. You can handle things for a day?"

The woman eyed Credence much more warily. "I'm the one who should be asking you that."

Graves' eyes slid back to Credence as though drawn. He stroked Credence's hair reassuringly. "We'll be fine."

 

Credence came awake in a panic, not knowing where he was. Not the thin mattress of his bed in the draughty chapel. Somewhere warm and soft. 

A hand that had been stroking his hair paused, then resumed its soothing petting. Credence opened his eyes but had to turn over to see Graves sitting up against the headboard, free hand holding open a thick book in his lap. Credence would bet it wasn't the Bible.

That was right. He was in Graves' apartment, wearing Graves' pyjamas. Graves had taken him home, taken him away because—

All of a sudden, everything came rushing back to Credence. The first upwelling of joy was crushed under the weight of horrible truth.

Instantly, Graves put his book aside and scooted down to fold Credence in his arms. "Shh, it's all right. You're safe."

Credence choked out a laugh that was almost a sob because _you're safe_ was so wrong in so many ways. 

"I've got you," Graves continued. 

Credence could only shake his head. Graves' fingers were still tangled in his hair. How many years had it been since someone had held him like this? Graves' embrace hadn't changed. There was no trace of fear in him, no hint that he cared Credence was possessed, or even that he was a murderer. Mortified, Credence hid his face in Graves' chest.

"Oh, my sweet Credence. I'm here; I've got you," Graves repeated, dropping a kiss on his temple. "It's all over. Okay? It's over. I've got you now."

"How—can you?" Credence asked, even though he couldn't bring himself to pull away. Oh, oh, but he wanted to _believe_.

Graves shimmied down farther and tipped Credence's face up so they were eye to eye. Credence met his gaze despite soul-deep misgivings. 

"You," Graves told him seriously, "are the most amazing thing I have encountered, in a life filled with magic."

Credence stared, desperate to believe but not quite daring. Credence had spent a most of his life _not quite daring_ anything. Graves' expression was once again touched by that disturbing, reverent awe. 

Recklessly, Credence lunged across the short distance between them to smash their mouths together. Graves didn't flinch but eased Credence's fumbling into something smoother and open-mouthed. Credence was still clumsier than Graves, but a wild hunger drove him, and Graves didn't try to take control. He let himself be pulled on top of Credence, heavy and solid. 

His arousal flared, body already coming to expect pleasure from Graves' pressed against it. A matching hardness was growing along Credence's hip.

 _Yes. Please, yes._ Credence clutched Graves for the leverage to thrust against him. The fine fabric of the pyjamas and underclothes Graves had leant him was its own caress. 

It was Graves who wedged a hand between them and somehow managed to get both their erections out. He might actually have used magic, for all Credence knew. It seemed incredible that Graves could still want him, and Credence shook with gratitude for this undeniable proof. Everything, Graves had meant everything that he'd said and more. Credence clung to that as tightly as he clung to Graves.

Graves stroked them together, cock to cock. Credence could feel the jewellery piercing the head of Graves'; it felt as unexpectedly good now as it had inside him. 

Graves spent first; Credence gasped in shock. Graves' continued strokes were slippery with his seed. 

His other hand shifted to Credence's chest as he pulled back. He tried to follow, but Graves held him in place.

Credence felt a growl rising in his throat, the darkness stirring in his chest. But Graves was moving down, not away. Credence realised in a flush of heat what Graves meant to do. The bedside lamp that Graves had been reading by showed everything clearly. His mouth, on Credence. He'd had no idea how it _felt_. 

Credence was breathless by the time Graves had finished licking his own seed away. He wasn't ready at all for Graves' mouth coming down over his length. Was that sound coming from _him_? It could hardly be Graves. Wonder and ecstasy joined the storm of desperation, despair, and desire already boiling over inside him. For the second time since last night, Credence was overcome. The release blinded him with its intensity and left him shaking. Graves always left him shaking, but at least Graves shook too. 

Holding him close now, Graves' touch was soothing, although Credence's was hardly less urgent. Graves righted their pyjamas and hugged him tightly. Despite everything, Credence found himself swallowed by a more forgiving darkness.

 

 **December 9, 1926**  
This time, Graves got into the shower with him. Credence did his best not to stare rudely. He might as well not have bothered, since Graves' hands had no such scruples. 

Stripped of the elegant bespoke suits, Graves' body was trim, with no hint of the corpulence many men, rich or poor, gained with age. Strange scars peppered his skin, reminding Credence of the ones on his own back. Then, intensely, of the mark Graves had left between his shoulder-blades. 

Wet, Graves' hair fell into his eyes until he pushed it back. He reached out and pulled Credence in like it was the most natural thing in the world. His hand rested big and comforting on the back of Credence's neck. The kiss tasted like soap. Credence never wanted to stop. 

Unfortunately, the tub had other ideas. They were paying more attention to each other than their footing; someone slipped, and they landed against each other in shocking full-body contact. 

Credence gasped. Graves vented a low grunt, not sounding displeased. He trailed a hand down Credence's spine and manoeuvred for another kiss. 

"Let's get out of here before one of us falls and breaks something."

Graves occupied a sprawling penthouse apartment, but the washroom was part of a master suite. Credence wasn't sure where it was exactly in the city, but he thought he'd caught a glimpse of Central Park through one of the windows. 

The curtains in the bedroom drew themselves back to admit the breaking light of dawn, and Credence paused to look out. The height reminded him dizzyingly of flying disembodied above the streets of Manhattan. He wasn't used to seeing the city from this angle, but Central Park was pretty unmistakeable. The sun was behind them, casting the high-rise's shadow deep into the foliage below. That would make this a Fifth Avenue penthouse. Credence swallowed and drew the dressing gown more tightly around himself. 

Graves had stopped half a step away. His grip had drifted from Credence's waist to his elbow, and now his hand. 

"Too bright? We can close it if you want to sleep."

Credence squeezed his hand. "No. I'm not tired."

He let himself be led back to Graves' (sprawling, ornate—comfortable) bed, where Graves pulled him down to join him on top of the deep mattress and stirred sheets. Credence found himself half on Graves' lap as he sat propped against the tall, carved headboard. Yesterday's terror and panic were finally starting to fade, banished by the morning light. 

Graves tugged him in for a kiss Credence happily returned, manoeuvring him until he was straddling Graves' thighs. Both their robes had fallen open, exposing a mutual arousal that made Credence's skin prickle in an inextricable mixture of embarrassment and pleasure. 

There was Graves' cock with its crown of rubies, a double ring of them around the head. Credence made an abortive move to touch, but shied away, hand landing instead on Graves' stomach. Graves watched him, that same quiet wonder creeping into his eyes. Credence twisted his fingers in the light trail of greying hair leading down his stomach. 

"I wanted to ask you about that," Graves said stroking Credence's arm in an idle caress. "Was it just your family, or are all No-Majs really bare like that?"

Credence glanced down at his own cock, which wasn't so different from Graves' in any other respect. He felt his face go bright red, but his erection didn't flag, which only made his face heat more.

"That isn't _normal_ for wizards, is it? I mean, in your—" 

Graves shrugged. "You usually get them done when you come of age and finish school, sixteen or seventeen. I've had mine since I was sixteen."

"Doesn't it..hurt?"

Graves traced down Credence's arm and guided his hand to his erection. "Do I act like it hurts?"

If Credence's face got any hotter, his hair was going to catch fire. Graves moved his hand, still covering Credence's, to stroke the unadorned shaft. 

"It's nothing a few spells can't heal up. Magic's good for all kinds of things."

Now Graves drew Credence's hand up and rubbed his palm over the piercings on the head. He sighed in what did look a lot like pleasure. 

Itching to explore, Credence was still thankful for the direction. He'd never touched another man like this. He'd only done it to himself a few times, when he'd been overcome with sinful—with unbearable lust. Ma's warnings against self-abuse had been veiled but convincing. 

Compared with the other things he'd—found himself doing lately, this didn't seem that bad. He had to admit, it wasn't pain the piercings seemed to be causing. The rubies had been polished smooth to keep from snagging, and the feeling of them sent a tingling spark up his arm. He wondered what they felt like to Graves. 

Hands on his hips urged Credence close enough to slide their lengths together. Graves wrapped his hand around them, destroying Credence's ability to think, or to do anything else, even hold himself upright. 

Collapsing against Graves' chest, Credence caught his eye. Graves didn't break eye-contact as he steadied him. 

Graves looked at him, looked _at_ him; and that did more for Credence than even his hand or his cock. Credence had always been able to feel the weight of his attention; Graves had never looked past him or through him. 

But the way he looked at Credence now, like he was something wonderful... "My sweet Credence," Graves called him, and he wanted that so much, to be Graves' sweet Credence, worthy of that regard. The idea that the dark force inside him might be more than just ugly and evil touched something buried even more deeply. Something trembling and fragile that the darkness had been wrapped protectively around. 

One of Graves' hands, strong and slightly rough despite his impeccable manicure, smoothed up his back while the other kept busy with its lewd work. With shaking arms, Credence held himself just far enough back for their eyes to stay in focus, at least until the pressure that had been building up in him inexorably exploded the boundaries of his body, in more ways than one. 

Graves stared at him, eyes wide and lips parted. Reaching into the seething roil, he bucked into his clenching fist and spent. 

 

 **December 23, 1927 (One Year Later)**  
It seemed odd for wizards to celebrate Christmas, but they apparently embraced the decadent, materialistic aspects of the holiday rather than its true religious origins. Despite the robes he was currently wearing, Credence felt nothing like a priest.

Of course, he wasn't exactly a wizard, either. Even wizards thought the power inside him was dark and frightening. 

No one had ever been afraid of Credence before.

He didn't like it, but it was better than the way things had been. Going around expecting to _like_ everything in life was pure fantasy, even in the magical world. Once, Credence would have said _anything_ , but he had Graves now. Graves, who thought he was wonderful and not horrifying; who had cared for him even before his dark secret had turned both their worlds upside-down. 

Graves, who was running late. No—there he was, coming out of the elevator, finally, talking to a well-dressed older witch Credence didn't recognise. 

A more familiar presence infringed on the bubble of space left around him by everyone keeping a careful distance as they walked past. Permelia Godoy was one of Graves' aurors, senior enough to socialise with him, so Credence had met her before. She was middle-aged, thin, and a bit hawk-nosed, but tall for a woman and very forthright. 

Credence wasn't always sure if that last was a plus or not. At least she didn't edge around him like a live wire. 

She craned her neck to see where he was looking. "Ah, Delegate Bowen. Shall we go over and rescue him?"

Godoy extended her arm, and Credence let her tuck it into his. The magical elite in their suits and gowns, occult jewellery and rarely-worn robes, made way for them—some more gracefully than others. One debutante squeaked as her friends hustled her an unnecessary step to the side. 

Graves was facing the other direction, so Delegate Bowen spotted them first. The colour drained from her face, leaving it pale and doughy. Noticing, Graves glanced over his shoulder, pleasure lighting his eyes. 

"I thought you might be looking for this." Godoy released Credence's arm as Graves gathered him in from the other side. 

"Thanks, Mellie. Credence, have you met Delegate Bowen?"

"Mister Barebone." Bowen flinched before taking Credence's proffered hand, barely touching him before pulling back again. 

"My pleasure, Delegate," Credence replied politely. Graves rubbed his back, part soothing, part apology for the encounter; but Credence had played this role enough for it not to bother him unduly. "Don't let me interrupt."

Bowen smiled without feeling, eye dipping to note with disapproval the piercing he wore now through his tongue. "No, I've kept you too long already, Director. We can continue this conversation some other time."

"Delegate," Graves replied neutrally. He waited until Bowen was gone before turning an amused look on Godoy. "You should be ashamed of yourself."

"If you say so." Godoy plucked a flute of vin d'élan from a tray circulating unsupported through the crowd. "Serves you right for being late and leaving this fine young man on his own."

Chivalrously, Graves passed a glass of the sparking wine to Credence before taking one for himself. "It looks like you got here all right, Credence. You look very nice."

Credence had Floo'd in on his own. This ball was being held at the top of MACUSA's side of the Woolworth building, in a grand ballroom sixty storeys above the streets of Manhattan, so Graves had already been here, at work in the subterranean MACUSA offices. 

"I see your robes survived." Graves had been worried; the Department of Magical Law Enforcement wasn't always a safe place for his suits, and his robes tonight were something else: row upon row of gold beads sewn onto the black fabric, tracing along his back and running in long, angled lines down his front. The bright white edge of the robe's under-layer just peeked out from the high, round collar and intricately patterned cuffs, flashing between the quarter panels of the robe's skirt when he moved. 

The robe Credence was wearing was no less intricate, but the pattern of ornamented scales had been executed in black on violet, and the soft wool-silk under-layer was black as well, overall a subtler effect, if no less rich. After a year, Credence still hadn't gotten over the way the expensive fabric felt against his skin. 

He appreciated it, not just because of how good it felt, but because it was a constant reminder of how different he, his life was now. It was the same reason he'd gotten the tongue piercing on top of the rest, despite the fact you couldn't wear them around No-Majs. Credence didn't go out in public much anymore, and he didn't miss it.

"Well, my work here is done," Godoy announced. "I think I'll go see if anyone in the goblin delegation is up for a dance. You'd think you two would be out of the honeymoon phase by now."

"Have a good time with the goblins, Mellie," Graves replied levelly, the merest hint of amusement leaking into his voice.

"It was nice to see you again," Credence added politely. 

Godoy kissed him on the cheek and strode off easily into the throng. Wizarding New York was at its most magical tonight, showing off in this exclusive venue everything they had to hide out in the world. Spells cavorted with the dancers through the ballroom, shimmering, sparkling, and crackling through the air.

Credence hadn't come with Graves to the Christmas gala last year, but they'd gone to any number of events like this once he'd found his feet again. That was Credence's life these days: magical parties, fancy restaurants, nights at the opera, and a penthouse apartment almost as far above the streets as they were standing now. However the wizards he encountered felt about him, he knew how to handle it. 

But this, this was the best part of the night, Credence thought several hours later. When Graves drew him in against his side and disapparated them both. In the privacy of their lavish bedroom, they would kiss, touching each other the way they hadn't been able to all night, stripping away the layers of suits or robes until their naked bodies could press against each other.

Credence had no compunctions at all anymore about touching Graves. He trusted Graves' hands more than anything else in the world. 

Naked, Graves stepped in close behind him, eyes and hands hot on the bare skin framed by the layers of his robe hanging open. He had turned Credence to face the room's full-length mirror, affording himself an unobstructed view. 

Dextrous fingers tweaked the ring piercing Credence's left nipple. Like the curved barbels on his cock, it was made from the horn of a magical serpent and capped with a black pearl. 

Credence let his head fall back against Graves' shoulder, not attempting to stop the little noise of pleasure in his throat. Graves pinched harder, twisting the piercing, and Credence gasped. 

With his other hand, Graves scraped short nails down Credence's stomach towards where his cock stood out, unashamedly hard. His fingers bumped along the double line of black pearls that ran down the underside. 

From his first glimpses of them, Credence had been fascinated by Graves' piercings, the crown of rubies adorning the head of his cock. Credence remembered asking him if it was the same for all wizards. For an answer, Graves had shown him a scandalous collection of moving photographs, all naked men, some on their own, some with others, touching each other or themselves. Graves himself had been in one, shockingly young-looking, and Credence had wondered if they were all his lovers.

Their hard cocks were displayed in full view. Rings and barbells ornamented them, on the top or bottom of the head, some around it like Graves had, some transecting it from side to side, like Credence's now, or top to bottom. Some had ranks of them down the backs or undersides of the hard shafts, between their legs, on their sacs, even behind them, exposed by hands spreading them for the camera. 

Graves had suggested starting with his nipples, to give him an idea of what to expect. Credence had also spent a lot of quality time with those photographs, and he let Graves see him looking, because he wanted to know what Graves liked.

He liked looking at Credence, which still made a hot flush of shy pleasure creep up Credence's neck. He liked to see his face and body while they made love. And Credence had wanted to mark himself, unquestionably. So he'd chosen this showy rank of piercings down the underside of his cock, starting with the dramatic bar through the head and continuing all the way down his sac, finishing at the root of his cock, just in front of the entrance to his body. 

They showed to best advantage when he was on his back with Graves between his thighs, and when he knelt over Graves and lowered himself onto his cock. Or like this, in front of the mirror. 

For his part, Credence could feel them, more than he'd expected, more than just when he was hard and Graves was touching him. It was so exactly what he'd wanted that he'd gone back and gotten the one in his tongue, too. _That_ was all but impossible to forget about.

Running it across the roof of his mouth, he shivered as Graves' manicured fingers rubbed the piercing in front of his hole, sending electrified jolts up his spine and making him clench and bear down in anticipation. Graves' other hand had trapped his erection against his stomach—more pressure, more sensation.

Graves pressed a kiss to the bared skin of his shoulder above his collarbone. Slowly, he dragged his hands up Credence's body. He brushed the layers of Credence's open robes from his shoulders.

They slithered down, joining Graves' clothes in a pool around their feet. Credence shivered again at the feeling of all that bare skin, and especially Graves' cock sliding along his cleft, hot flesh and smooth, hard rubies. 

Graves murmured a familiar spell with familiar effects. Reaching back over his shoulder, Credence tugged Graves' head around and forward so he could crane his own for a kiss even as Graves spread him and lined up his cock.

Graves took his time, teasing his hole with the flaring head and its ring of piercings, almost thrusting in and then almost pulling out, until Credence was flexing open and canting his hips back, needing more, more, _more_. He clenched when the head slipped all the way inside at last, drinking Graves' moan of appreciation from his lips. 

The kiss was sloppy and a little rough. Securely inside Credence now, Graves' hands started to wander again, smoothing up his side under his raised arm and caressing his hip and flank. 

Credence's free hand had started to drift down towards his erection, but Graves covered it with his own and pinned it to his belly. He nudged Credence's legs further apart and edged one of his own between them, thrusting more seriously now. 

Credence felt his toes curl in the Persian carpet. His fingers curled in Graves' hair and on his stomach, interlaced with Graves', so now their hands were gripping tightly. 

Revisiting the nipple he'd been toying with earlier, Graves twisted it, sending a jolt to Credence's erection, then tugged, then rubbed not quite gently. When it was stinging, Graves moved on to the other one, twisting until Credence's back was arched and he was whimpering around Graves' tongue. And again. And again. And his cock thrust, dragging inside him, piercings rubbing against that perfect spot, and their hands clenched, white-knuckled, into a single fist, tighter, tighter, until Credence finally snapped.

The clutching spasms seemed to last forever. Graves kept driving into him, maintaining the torsion on his nipple until he was shuddering. 

He didn't slow down or let up. Gradually, Credence realised he was getting hard again. He threw his head back, half-panting, half-moaning. Graves's mouth was hot and wet, biting up and down his neck before landing on his ear. He brought their combined fist, spattered with seed, up to Credence's lips. 

"What do you say?" he murmured in Credence's ear, voice husky with sex. "Want to try for three?"

An involuntary moan escaped Credence at the prospect, but Graves had already taken his cock in hand. It didn't sound like he was going to last long enough to follow through, at least not like this. 

His grip was tight, and he twisted his wrist with every stroke, making Credence feel each piercing. Credence rocked forward and back, caught squirming between pleasures. His eyes fluttered open and shut, but Graves was still watching in the mirror, looking as debauched as Credence and more than a little wild. 

He trailed fingers wet from Credence's mouth over his stinging, oversensitive nipples, across his stomach, down to his sac. Graves rolled his balls in his palm, squeezing them and thumbing the line of piercings. Watching Credence's face hungrily, he slipped a finger back behind.

Credence was stretched wide around Graves' cock. Both of them could feel the pressure when Graves fingered the piercing. 

Credence jerked, coming helplessly into Graves' hand. Losing his rhythm, Graves delivered a series of short, powerful thrusts up into Credence, rising onto his toes with the force of his orgasm. 

They collapsed to their knees in a disjointed buckling of limbs. Credence clasped Graves' arms around him to stop him moving, not ready to be empty yet. 

Graves rested his forehead against the back of Credence's neck. "My sweet Credence," he said, hugging him. "How I love you."

The words warmed him the way they always did. Credence squirmed around gingerly so he could lay his head on Graves' shoulder. 

"Dear Percy. I love you, too," he replied. 

Graves dropped a kiss at the top of his spine, affectionate and sated. 

Bed could wait.

**Author's Note:**

> Weather resembles actual historical weather, with many thanks to the people who put up [this archive](http://thestarryeye.typepad.com/weather/by-year/), may they never know how I used the information.


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